


Secrets are Meant for Keeping

by tinmunky



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Brainwashing, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, F/M, Secret Agent, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, gray areas, more tags as I come up with them, past sexual relationship with Staci Pratt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinmunky/pseuds/tinmunky
Summary: Jacob Seed has finally got his hands on the Deputy and he has his suspicions. No Rookie is that good.Elizabeth "Lizzie" Rook expected a simple deep cover observation mission on a cult that seemed to know too many political secrets. What she got was a bloody mess and Jacob Seed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted without Beta.  
> Ubisoft own's all characters, I'm just playing in their sandbox
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm playing fast and loose with canon here. I find it hard to believe that a Rookie could be that good. She's gotta be a secret agent. E for eventual smut. 
> 
> Also I like the chessboard idea that her last name would be Rook and calling her Rookie is a pet name more than anything.
> 
> Spotify Playlist for Jacob Here: https://open.spotify.com/user/1247860842/playlist/52WZpbzCoZH5EK97YliPpo?si=rQYy-wqWSWe6t4WECl8bUA

By Elizabeth Rook's estimation, she’d been in the cage for four days. She wasn’t entirely sure since she had arrived unconscious. They had been providing her with the bare minimum to keep her functioning. Just enough food and just enough water to keep her going. To keep her alive. Classic techniques used to demoralize and control captives. To encourage compliance and complacency. It was practically textbook. She wondered if Jacob had the Quantico manuals. 

Rook looked up through the bars at the clear Montana sky licking her chapped lips. At least it was summer. This arrangement would be hell in inclement weather. She looked over to the young man’s cage next to hers. He had laid down yesterday and hadn’t gotten up since. She would have thought him dead, if she hadn’t heard the occasional whimper. Her gut twisted with hunger. If he didn’t get his shit together, he wouldn’t make it. She sighed and leaned back against the bars facing inward, instead of outward towards the courtyard of St. Francis. She was weak. Hungry. Tired. Anything that happened now could be at her disadvantage in this state. She needed to remain alert. She knew at this point her best bet was to wait. Wasn’t there a song about waiting being the hardest part? Tick tock, tick tock

The cages that her and the other captives were housed in were ramshackle. She imagined if she really put forth the effort, she might be able to escape on her own. But would she have the strength to make it in the wild this depleted? Regardless, that would defeat the purpose. She was here for information. Observe, collect, report. Reporting had become a bit of a problem. But the information she collected now, could assist in her counter measures later. Especially extracting Pratt. 

The Peggies had managed to disable all conventional means of communication outside of the county and her SAT phone was damaged beyond repair when they set her trailer on fire, along with most of her gear. Rook had been running by the seat of her pants since the helicopter crash. She’d had minimal time to establish her base of operations prior to that fucking idiot Burke coming in to serve his warrant. Marshals and FBI and CIA all pissing in each other’s jurisdictions led to messes. Messes like this one. 

After day two Rook had mapped the rotations of the guards. By day three she had figured out what protocols they were operating under to break morale of the captives. Day four, today, she figured was when her audience with one Jacob Seed would occur. Tick tock, tick tock. 

To be honest. She hadn’t intended to get captured. She’ll give them that. Their hunting party was very effective and took her before she was ready to be taken. But this kind of work required adaptation and evolution. So here she was adapting, getting her first taste of how Jacob ran his operations. 

Rook looked to the sky, the sun had streaked the clouds with a fiery display. The last pale light in the west. Feeding time soon. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled across the gravel courtyard and set before her cage. The ease of a considerably sized man settling in. Tick tock, tick tock. Like clockwork.

She didn’t move from her resting place against the bars, but she did look over her shoulder. The man himself, Jacob Seed, sat in front of her cage. Relaxed and at his ease. One long leg tucked under the chair and the other sprawled before him, practically touching the cage. His leaned far back, almost in a slouch, with his hands folded across his flat stomach. Contemplating.  
The sunset set his hair aflame as Jacob sat like that, quietly inspecting his latest acquisition with icicle eyes. Pity he was attractive. It was always easier when they were dull. Pratt stood behind him. His hands clasped before him and his head bowed. She caught a gleam of eyes on her before he cast them down again. Oh Staci, what had he done?

She closed her eyes and turned her attention back towards the opposite side of the cage. Staci was going to make it difficult for her to keep her temper. She’d always had an issue keeping that in check. Especially with bullies.

In her time in the county both Staci Pratt and Joey Hudson had taken her under their collective wings and she had become very fond of her temporary department. Well not Nancy. That backstabbing bitch was going to get hers if Rook had any say in the matter. 

Neither deputy knew anything about her beyond her surface. A new deputy transfer to help with the workload of policing a very large tract of land. An immediate comrade in arms. She appreciated their open welcome. It made her job easier.

“Peaches.” Jacob drawled out. “What were you telling me about our Deputy here? That she was new to the county?” His voice was much better in person than over the degraded radio waves. Deep, every word spoken with purpose and weight. To bring about a desire result. She could definitely see why these Seed brothers ran a successful cult. Just their voices made you want to listen. 

“Yessir” Pratt answered. Flat, lifeless.

“The file you pulled was a bit light. Kinda vague. Divorced parents. Both deceased. No family. Would have thought she’d have a larger career file at her age.” He spoke to Pratt as if he was reviewing the pedigree for a new bitch. All to elicit her reaction. Was he looking for the Wrath, his brother John accused her of? “She’s a bit too old to be straight out of the academy.” 

Rook huffed. Somewhere between indignation and a laugh. She turned her shoulders to get a better look at him and Staci beyond. She wanted to see Staci’s face. To see what he had told Jacob about her. If it was written in his expression. He looked pained, but she was 90% sure he hadn’t spilled any secrets he shouldn’t have had in the first place.

Once Rook moved, opening up her attention to Jacob, he leaned forward, pulling his outstretched leg under him and rested his elbows on his knees. Hands lightly clasped and head bowed. His fatigue jacket stretching across his back, scarred forearms heavily muscled. He was a big dude. And he moved like he could handle himself. He could be a problem. Without looking up he addressed her directly for the first time,

“Peaches here says you’ve got top marks when you went through your orientation with Hope County. Perfect written scores, exemplary physical performance. Nice ass too from what he says.” Jacob looked up through his lashes without raising his head to gage her reaction. On anyone else it would have looked flirtatious and coy. On him it looked, predatory. What was he looking for? Any embarrassment? Guilt? Confirmation? She shrugged. He continued on,

“Easy to work with. Friendly, yet reserved. Shy maybe?” he paused searching her face. “Hmmmmm” he hummed deep like he just discovered a tasty tidbit. His voice reverberating in his chest causing the hair at the nape of her neck to prickle He turned to look over his shoulder at Pratt “No, not shy, huh Peaches?”

Pratt shook his head without looking up. “No sir” Now HE sounded guilty. Well Staci did tell Jacob about THAT apparently. Was he doing it to get under her skin or Staci’s. Annoying. 

Rook turned the rest of her body around to face Jacob squarely. Slow and controlled. Meeting calculating gaze with calculating gaze. She had a sneaking suspicion Jacob Seed was able to suss out more than she was comfortable with. Beyond her mutually beneficial arrangement with Staci. Jacob was the type of man to already have the answers to the questions he asked. Again, annoying. 

This was not good. She got the uneasy feeling that she was looking at a man who could definitely be a problem. He turned back to her, his head tilted contemplatively to the side. 

“You’re not these hick’s type.” Staci made a choking noise. “So, what’s a super cop like you doing in backwoods place like this?” He smiled at her wolfishly. He definitely knew how to look at a girl. Like he could lay her bare in that gaze. She felt her body start to heat. The air became heavy. If she had a spidey sense it would be tingling for sure. Screaming “DANGER WILL ROBINSON.”

She blinked owlishly at him, what the fuck was he after? He moved from his chair, coming closer. Closing the distance and dropped to his haunches with a pop in his knees. Rook felt the metaphorical ice thinning beneath her. His eyes searching her face. She looked up into them, God how were they so blue? The sunset glinting off his ginger hair and the deep shadows providing his scarred face some relief. They say the Devil is handsome. Hunger was making her loopy. Focus Rook!

“How long have you been active kitten?” His soft tone and casual pet name threw her for a step. She had to scramble fast. When in doubt, be obtuse.

“What? Like sexually?” she scoffed and from the corner of her eye she saw Staci’s head shoot up before quickly dropping. “That’s none of your damn business.”

Jacob tsked, disappointed. And dread rushed in and the edges of her vision grayed, but her face stayed the same, with her mock indignation.

“You and I both know, that’s not what I mean. Let me make this plain.” He said leaning in to bore his eyes into hers. “You show up in Hope County three months ago. You have an unremarkable personal file, that is conveniently lacking in any career details. Yet somehow you can handle heavy artillery that even SWAT wouldn’t have their hands on, demolitions, boy do you seem to have a knack for that” he chuckled companionably, “You show obvious training in counter intelligence, highly successful in covert infiltration,” his voice hardening with each word. “and you can fly both a turbo prop fighter plane and a fixed rotor, which I am to believe, according to your file, you have no training for, in addition to a fucking wingsuit and low opening base jumps and air drops. That’s a serious learning curve, even for a natural talent.”

Jacob paused to gauge her reaction to these revelations. Jesus fucking Christ he knew. There was no way he could know, but he KNEW.

She looked stone faced back at him. In retrospect, her not immediately being captured or perishing like the rest of her department wasn’t exactly good for her cover. And she hadn’t been exactly subtle laying waste on her way north. In for a penny in for a pound.

“I play a lot of video games.”

He threw his head back and barked out a genuine laugh. It makes his face soften into true handsomeness and Staci winces. He is dangerous she repeats to herself. 

“Oh kitten!” He chuckled and fast as lightening his face hardens again and his hand lashed out grabbing a fistful of her dirty hair. 

Rook grunted, but refused to squawk as he drags her face to the bars, mere inches from his. Her eyes darting back in forth across his face. Looking for an indication of his next move. His breath soft across her face. She wasn’t sure if it was her deplorable condition, but he somehow smelled good this close. Like cigars and smoky whiskey and clean man. It’s crazy what sleep deprivation and starvation would make you focus in on during a stressful situation.

“I’ll ask this in a way that I think your spook head might understand. How long have you been Operational?”

“Long enough.” She responds honestly. Why bother lying now?

“Good, this will make it more rewarding when you heel.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook's attempt to control the situation backfires and Jacob puts her in the chair.

Rook was jarred from her restless sleep by a loud metal clang. Two of Jacob’s soldiers were dragging her neighbor out by his ankles. His head lolling to the side. It appeared he had unfortunately succumbed to his despair.

Rook had expected her adventure with Jacob Seed to have moved on from her first encounter. After his unsettling revelation and dark promise she was left alone. For two days. On the second day, it started to rain. Sure she’d been fed and watered like any good livestock, but no more visits, no protection from the elements. No warmth. No new information. This was not part of Hostage Management 101. They had severely deviated from the textbook. At this point, they should have done something with her. She was on shaky ground. She could feel her body weaken, her mind slower and her chances to move the situation in her favor shrinking.

As if the gears of her head were grinding at an audible frequency, one of the soldiers looked at her taking exception to her scrutiny.

“You’ll be next girly if you don’t learn your place. Only the strong survive!” His eyes alight with a feverish fanaticism as he spit the words around yellowed teeth.

“Eat a dick weirdo.” Rook huffed around her parched lips. Even in her weakened state she couldn't leave well enough alone.

“What did you say to me.” The Peggie dropped his end of the load, eliciting a squawk from his partner as he was left with the entirety of the dead weight.

Rook had an idea. How good of a one was debatable. If she forced the issue, she could cause enough of a ruckus and move the ball up the court so to speak. Force Jacob to make his next move ahead of any schedule he had. Maybe even escape. Sharky and Hurk had to be searching by now. She had missed her rendezvous time. But, she also knew Jacob wasn’t dumb. That he wouldn’t leave a resource like her languishing for too long. He would be formulating plans and if she accelerated his time table, maybe she could control it.  

Rook stood up and rolled her shoulders before grasping the bars, leaning in and rasping.

“I said what I said Cleetus.”

Rook stumbled back from the bars and the Peggie lunged towards her, grasping. Okay, maybe she should reassess. This was definitely not one of her best ideas.

“I’ll show you what it means to respect your betters girly. You’re just fucking meat until Jacob makes you otherwise.” Rook backed from the gate, giving herself some space to maneuver as the soldier fumbled for his keys, wrenching the door open hard enough to shake the line of cages.

This was probably, definitely a bad idea. God, she hoped she had enough juice to keep this idiot busy before someone put a stop to this and alerted Jacob or she made her escape. Thankfully his buddy didn’t seem as spicy as this fucker.

Cleetus stalked forward. His movements powerful, but sloppy. In her prime this guy would be a piece of cake. Clearly underestimating her as he moved forward with the purpose of “teaching her a lesson.” But Rook was decidedly NOT at her prime. She was going to have to get creative and maybe a bit desperate.

“C’mon big boy.” She wheezed urging him to be rash and rush her. He continued stalking forward in a controlled manner. Welp, that didn’t work. He had better discipline that she had hoped. He closed the distance and squared up to her, lunging first to grab her wrist and draw her near. Rook dodged back, slapping his hand away as she swept around him causing him to stumble forward and past her. With his back to the inside of the cage and hers now to the door, this was her chance. This time he feigned left than right, Rook’s instincts telescoping his moves. He was better than she anticipated. She bobbed and wove as she quickly spun on her heel in the muddy cell darting for the open gate. But in her weakened state she was a fraction of a second too slow with his open hand snatching into her hair. Fuck.

Cleetus dragged her back against his chest as he wrapped his other arm around her waist attempted to lift her off the ground and throw her deeper into the cage. Rook was no wilting flower, even depleted. At 6 feet tall and 170 lbs she was the size of most of the men she dealt with. As he used all his strength to pick her up she flailed backwards driving her head into his face, putting them both flat on their backs in the mud. Cleetus squarely smashed under her. The air exiting his body in a strangled puff. His partner had abandoned his load and dashed into to assist his cohort.

“Dammit Jimmy, you’re going to get us whipped.” Cleetus Number Two’s voice panicked.

Rook scrabbled to her hands and knees, while Jimmy, she guessed, relearned to breath and used the last of her strength to mow over Cleetus Number Two on her single-minded mission to get out that fucking door. This brief scuffle had taken more out of her than she thought. She had less to give. At this point, any previous plan, however bad, to cause a distraction was abandoned in favor of an even worse plan. Make a run for it.

Rook’s vision tunneled down as she threw herself out the door before the two blithering idiots behind her got their feet under them. As she cleared the metal, feet pounding for all she was worth she slammed into a solid wall of flesh, bouncing off and landing squarely on her ass.

Well this was a certifiable clusterfuck. Rook looked up into the flat eyes of Jacob Seed. Back to Plan A.

Jacob’s expressionless face peered down at her. Hard planes and devoid of any hint of his thoughts. His arms folded across his broad chest. A tick jumped in his jaw.

 “Now that I have your attention.” She wheezed as she fell flat on her back, all fight draining from her. “I’d like to file a complaint with management regarding my accommodations.” Her eyes searching his face.

Ah, there it was. A sparkle in his eye. Either amusement or rage, she couldn’t tell, but something. She had him now. Jacob squatted down near her head, speaking softly for a man so large

“If you’re so eager to get to work.” He tilted his head as he swept her mucked up hair from her face. “You should have just said so.” He rose with a fluidity she was instantly jealous of from her place in the mud.

“Peaches.” He barked, his baritone voice deep. “Pick this pup up and let’s see what she’s really made of.”

Staci hustled over, sliding his big hands under Rook’s armpits, hoisting her to a seated position as she scrambled to find purchase with her feet in the mud. He continued to drag her up with ease until her feet were underneath her and she was leaning against him for balance. She had forgotten how strong the lanky deputy was. He pulled her along as Jacob spun on his heel and walked away. Confident they would follow.

She peered into Staci's face for the first time since their capture as they shuffled forward in Jacob's wake. She was horrified with what she saw. Gone was the laughing, puckish demeanor. His eyes and cheeks sunken in from his weeks in Jacob's care. He was leaner, stronger, but wounded. Physically and mentally. His essence was hollowed out from the man she knew. He was a shell. Harder and tempered to Jacob's will.

“Jesus, Staci, what has he done to you.” She reached to touch his scabbed over face as he jerked back. Like her touch would burn him. 

"Please don't." he wheezed.

“Peaches!” Jacob opened the door to one of the rooms inside the center. “Put her in the chair and lets get this party started.”

Rook dug her heels in, using whatever she had left in the tank to resist. 

"Staci, no! I don't want to hurt you." Rook hissed at war with her desire to protect Staci from harm and every nerve screaming to get out. 

He lifted her to her toes and shook her once with more force than she though capable of. He whispered for only her to hear.

“Please be good, please be good, please be good.” His eyes frantic and brighter than she'd seen them since this started.

“He’s going to test you. You have to be strong. You have to survive. Please… please.” Staci hissed as he squeezed Rook’s biceps hard enough to bruise. “You. Have. To. Survive.”

Staci dumped Rook into the only open chair in a room with three other civilians. All of them filthy, and weak and scared. One woman wept openly and loudly. Images of wolves devouring deer flashed across the impromptu film screen set against the wall. The room lit in red. Staci's touch was gentle as he tightened the leather straps in contrast with his treatment of her moments before. Lizzie, she said to herself. What the fuck did you get yourself into this time?

Rook bucked against the restraints as they tightened down. Jacob barely touched Staci's shoulder to push him aside and the younger man looked like he'd been electrocuted as he leaped out of the way. Jacob approached her. His whole body oozing menace, leaning into her personal space as he bracketed her with his hands on either arm rest. His features bathed in red as he searched her face. He looked much the same as when she first saw him. Dirty jeans, military fatigues jacket rolled to his elbows exposing scarred, muscular forearms. Sculpted lips and a well constructed face marred by scars and life.

"Hello again handsome." She quipped flippantly. Trying to keep her raging emotions in check. This was not going well for her.

Jacob's mouth quirked as he hummed a response. The muscled in his forearms coiled as he dragged her chair closer to him and the screen. Never breaking eye contact. 

"Well kitten, you've force my hand." he settled back on his haunches at eye level with her. Hands hanging casually between his knees. Side arm strapped to his hip. Knife strapped to his thigh. He looked completely relaxed his demeanor at odds with his whole aesthetic of violence and this freak show room.

"I had hoped we could have eased into this. Maybe shared some stories and bonded over the necessity of," he waved his hand vaguely around the room, "all this. But your little stunt and your friends in the resistance have made things...hmmm... difficult." the word sounded like a growl as it left his lips. His voice coiling through her. "And we're going to have to do this the quick and dirty way. But you're strong." his smile wolfish "You'll do fine with this little trial." Jacob patted her knee affectionately and rose with a huff of effort.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a little wooden box. Casually winding the dial. One of the men strapped to a chair began to keen in panic.

"I'm sure you're a survivor kitten. So let's see you survive." Jacob opened what Rook now recognized as a music box, and for the first time since the whole debacle started, Rook was actually afraid. This was so much worse than they thought. So much worse than a simple cult. These people were building an army from the shattered remains of regular people. And she had fallen right into the thick of it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months ago Rook sat in a sterile Langley conference room being given an opportunity to salvage her career

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to jump back and forth in time between current events and events leading up to the Rook's capture by Jacob.
> 
> For the record, I don't know shit about covert ops, the CIA or anything really of the sort so I'm making this up as I go along. Hopefully in a convincing fashion. I've put forth a cursory level of investigation, but I'm no expert and this may require some suspension of disbelief. Mea culpa.

The overhead florescent bulb buzzed on such a low frequency, Agent Rook wasn’t quite sure if she was hearing it or feeling it in her fillings. She dragged her attention back to the manila folder in front of her. Black and white photographs, satellite imagery in grainy clarity stared back. She had spread the documents out in front of her. Sorting through pictures, maps, collected data.

Articles from the Georgia Bar Association written by one John Seed. Reference to a dismissed DUI charge. Religious pamphlets published by a Father Joseph Seed for the Project at Eden’s Gate. Mug shots of a young Jacob Seed. Arson, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, later US Army photos of a man turned out in his dress uniform being pinned with a medal. Decorated military career with several tours, honorable discharge. Rook shuffled more. Several photos of a woman named Faith Seed. Sister? No early documentation was included. Each photo looked similar, but different. Rook’s brows drawing together. Are these the same woman? She peered closer. Rook jerked her head up as the conference room door opened.

Deputy Director Anderson cleared his throat as he sat down opposite her in the featureless room. His bland pressed suit to go with his bland pressed face.

“Agent Rook, good to see you again. How’s the leg, your shoulder?” Rook had known Anderson for years. Watched his career skyrocket as his ambition and lack of scruples made him an Agency darling. Small talk was not his strong suit though. Rook felt a phantom muscle tick at the mention. Get shot and stabbed and no one lets you forget. Nice of him to set the tone from the get go.

“Well. Thank you, sir.” Rook maintained eye contact, rolling her shoulders in her equally bland navy suit to ease the twitch.

“Good, good.” He hummed dismissing the pleasantries. “Have you had a chance to review the memo on this operation?”

“Yessir.” Rook gestured to the array of documents spread out in front of her. “If I may, this a domestic operation against a cult? Doesn’t seem like our wheelhouse.” Anderson may be her superior, but she had more field time. She wasn’t a fledgling agent, he was just better at playing the politics.

Anderson cleared his throat again. “Very astute.” He said dryly. “This is a wholly domestic operation in a region of Montana called Hope County. Falls under the jurisdiction of the Helena field office. Deep cover observation of a potential religious militia cult, Project at Eden’s Gate.”

“Montana religious militias sir? Wouldn’t this be the jurisdiction of the Marshals or FBI?” Rook questions. Anderson glances her way out of the corner of his eye. The message clear to shut the fuck up and listen.

Anderson powered up the flat screen on the wall displaying a topographical map of the western edge of Montana.

“This operation is of particular interest to national security. Our agents in the Helena field office have been monitoring the reports coming out of the Hope County Sheriff’s office and further to the US Marshal’s office in Missoula with increasing concern.”

Anderson zoomed into a craggy portion of the topo map showing a wide valley cut with ribbons of rivers and a large lake surrounded by the massive Rocky Mountain peaks. Remote and hard to access.

““We’ve heard whispers the Project is forming their own sovereignty with the acquisition of armaments, supplies, personnel, not to mention the cultivation and manufacture of highly psychotropic drugs. Current intelligence puts this Project at Eden’s Gate cult financially on the level of the Mexican cartels. Naturally, we have no validation of these claims for the FBI to act against on a formal level. We haven’t tracked down their funding, but it appears to be immense with their agents purchasing large tracts of land.” Anderson clicks the next slide showing three obvious Cold War facilities. “Including three decommissioned nuclear silos. That we can prove.” He sighed

 “This still seems like an FBI issue, sir. I’m struggling to see how this is in the CIA purview.” Rook persisted.

Anderson pointedly looked at her over the rim of his glasses. Clearly, she was too stupid to understand to just do her job.

“Hope County is also a safe house location for Willis Huntley’s Russian nuclear physicist defector.” Rook sat back in her chair. Oh. “The religious publications of Joseph Seed contain enough allusions government collapse and nuclear fallout that it would be prudent to ascertain the threat. Which is why we’re casting our hat into this. Involving a domestic entity would potentially expose the asset.”

Willis Huntley was something of a universally known prick among the field agents. He had landed some amazing assets, but was also like a tephlon coated piece of shit. Nothing stuck to him and he seemed to weasel out of any actual work or danger. It was no surprise that he would have stiffed someone else with cleaning up a mess that should rightfully be his. Someone like her, who had a few asses to kiss if she wanted to advance.

“We need a dedicated, low profile resource on the ground to assess the risk the Project at Eden’s Gate and the Seed Family poses to national security. This could be nothing more than another David Koresh situation and the FBI can mop that up, but if they’re dealing in international intelligence, we’ve got a whole new set of fucking problems.”

“Indeed.” Rook folded her hands on the table. “And what parameters do you want me operating in?”

“Estimated duration to be six months of deep cover within the local law enforcement. Arrangements have been made for a,” Anderson air quotes “”New Deputy” in the Hope County Sheriff’s office. You will operate in the capacity of a junior deputy for the department for the period of your operation. Anticipate the potential of extension dependent upon the information gathered. You will be assigned a handler in Helena that you will report to via secure satellite com link every two weeks Sunday at 8pm sharp. Should information become available that proves these rumors, you will submit an emergency broadcast on a secured channel with secured equipment and await immediate evac at Lansdowne Airstrip located to the northwest of the county.”

“Is…” Rook shifts through the documents. “Sheriff Whitehorse appraised of this operation?” Rook asked.

“Negative Agent. This is a need to know operation, with the current team list consisting of myself, the Director and his immediate staff, and your handler Evan Sharpe. Your objective is to observe this cult, the people of this region, and ascertain who is funding the Project and how. Additionally you are to identify any risk to the Russian asset, but under no circumstances are you to engage.”

“Pardon my naivety of the situation sir, but wouldn’t a LEO or authoritarian presence preclude my access to such information?” Rook was always asking the annoyingly direct questions.

Anderson grunted. “Under normal circumstances, I would say yes, but our analysts are showing an uptick in recruitment from government positions for this “church” as they try to consolidate real estate and local influence. This is like the Rajneeshees on crack. Literally, if the rumors are to be believed about their drug operation.” Anderson took a deep breath. Now to let the other shoe drop.

“I apologize in advance for this Agent Rook. Due to the sensitivity of the situation and the direction we have received from the Oval Office, your involvement as a U.S. Government agent for this operation will not be recognized should your cover be blown and any emergency extraction will have to be on your own. This is a black op.”

Rook looked up from the file, eyebrows raised.

“Pardon sir?” Rook could not keep the incredulousness from her voice.

“For all intents and purposes Elizabeth.” Anderson using her given name for a personal connection. He was an absolute reptile. ”You’re just a regular, everyday small town cop for the next six months. The Agency is currently not authorized by Congress for domestic operations of this nature. But we’ve always asked for forgiveness instead of permission when national security is concerned. I have every confidence that this is a fact-finding mission and will be a great stepping stone for your return to full operational status in the European theater again.” Anderson spread his hands in a conciliatory manner.

And there was the bait. Full operational status. Rook had been sidelined since the incident last fall. Scratch our back and we’ll scratch yours. Rook was used to the manipulations, being told to jump and how high. Often enough it didn’t conflict with her own personal feelings enough for her to want to dig her heels in, but holding her career hostage was a new low. Even for Anderson.

Anderson taps the table as he begins to rise. He knows she’ll cooperate before she’s even said yes and that needles. But he knows how to read a situation. That’s why he’s where he is.

“I will leave you with the dossier to familiarize yourself with your targets. We expect the first month or two of your station to be by the books to establish your rapport with the locals. Try and blend in and get friendly. We want people to want to talk to you Agent.”

Rook rose from her seat as Anderson did.

“Get a bag packed and you’re on the next flight to Helena. Rendezvous with Sharpe before driving into Hope County. Good luck Elizabeth.” Anderson extends his limp fish hand and Rook looks at it for a moment before accepting it. Full. Operational Status. She repeated in her head.

If she had known how much action this operation was going to entail, she might have stayed on desk duty indefinitely and let Huntley handle his own shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook has survived her trial a little worse for wear. Staci isn't the man she remembers and Jacob is more complicated than she anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being MASSIVE. Sorry about that. Also it's 1:30 am and I've only read through it once. so who knows if it makes any fucking sense.

The overhead florescent bulb buzzed on such a low frequency, Rook wasn’t quite sure if she was hearing it or feeling it in her fillings. Had she been here before? Everything was fuzzy and thick with what must be the last vestiges of a rather large Bliss dose. The coiling feeling of fog easing through her senses wasn’t keeping the pain from slowly seeping in.

She was on her stomach, face down. Body a dead weight... Her shoulder. She could definitely feel her left shoulder.

Rook groaned as she began to claw her way back to consciousness. She tried to open her eyes, feeling like they were cemented shut. Move! Her instincts screamed. Staying still was dangerous.

“Hnngh.” She opened her gummy eyes and the effort was exhausting. “Where, am I?”

“Hold her. The Bliss is wearing off and Jacob was very specific about keeping this one functional.” Rook could hear a voice she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t see them. Her eyes sluggishly roaming the room. She was in a clinic? Medical equipment was strewn across the tray in front of her face. Bloody gauze and utensils. She started to push herself up.

“I’m very fucking aware of that.” Another voice barked back as a hand rested heavy on good shoulder. Pushing her back down. “Easy, Liz. Just a few more stitches.” Rook knew that voice. Staci.

She could feel the rhythmical tug now. Stitch. Stitch. Stitch.

“Okay, Staci.” She slurred.

“Just because you’re Jacob’s dog, doesn’t mean you get to bark at me boy.” The first voice shot back. Stabbing the needle in with a little more force than necessary.

Rook sucked air through her teeth as the burn began to set in.

“Back off, Harris. This “dog” would love to tear you to shreds. The Herald put me in charge of seeing her restored to the ranks. If you damage her further, you’ll have to answer for it.” 

Staci stood over her as the medic grumbled and continued to work. Each prick of the needle chasing away the green edges to her vision. Pain was doing wonders for clearing her mind. Her eyes darted around the room. She was definitely on a gurney in a clinic somewhere being stitched up. If Staci was here, then Jacob was not far. What had she been doing? Was she trying to escape? For the life of her she couldn’t remember the details. Only phantom twitches of muscle memory and the very real physical manifestations of whatever actions she participated in being tended to on her back. The more she dug for them the more they slipped through her metaphorical fingers. A training session of some kind. One. Two. Three. Move. Move. MOVE! Jacob’s voice sliding through her skull like a second consciousness.

She was being groomed for something. She knew that she had been put through conditioning trials. Even if she couldn’t remember the details. You’ve seen this before. You’ve done this before. Did that history make this easier or harder? Her own clandestine training screaming all the warning bells and she had been powerless to stop it. 

She felt one final, solid tug as the Peggie medic snipped the thread and began to tape down the bandage.

As Rook woke up fully. She remembered this wasn’t the first time she’d been stitched up. She’d been shot before. Had taken an arrow to her leg. Her memory was a fuzzy dream of brutal action but if she was asked to describe it, she couldn’t. The fucking Bliss was no joke.

 “Can you sit up?” The medic asked as he stepped back and pulled his medical gloves off with a snap.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good.” Rook shook off the last of the Bliss fog as she pushed herself up with a groan. She felt like she’d run a marathon while being chased by rabid wolves. For all she knew she had. Everything hurt.Rook swung her legs around and eased herself down with a hiss. Her shoulder wasn’t the only thing that was going to be sore. Maybe move a little more gingerly next time.

“Don’t’ fuck up my work. I’m not going to be blamed if you reopen your wounds.” The medic warned as he began to clean up the supplies.

“She’s tougher than she looks Harris.” Staci grasped her elbow to steady her. His grip firm and warm.

She glanced out the corner of her eye at him. He still looked like shit, but out of Jacob’s immediate presence he stood taller and with more confidence. Speaking to the medic with authority. A sharp contrast to the submissive demeanor he used in Jacob’s company. Staci pulled Rook around and held her at arm’s length taking in her appearance. Whatever he saw seemed to be satisfactory and he maneuvered her out of the room without a backwards glance.

Staci pulled Rook along a dark corridor of the veteran’s center, reminiscent of the last time she saw him. Before whatever happened, had happened.

“Where are we going Staci?” Rook asked as she tried to collect her thoughts, pulling the tatters of her flannel shirt back up her shoulder to little success. Her bra strap had been cut so that Harris could work, and the whole arm was missing from the shirt, but her modesty was reasonably intact. Upon further inspection both the shirt and her jeans were stiff with blood. Hers? Others? Both? Probably both.

“He’ll want to review your progress. You survived. You did well. This is good.” Staci said not relinquishing his hold on her good arm.

There was no need to define who “he” was as Staci pulled her towards another wing of the Veteran’s Center. This part of the facility was much tidier than the outside cages. Crates stacked and organized with the Peggie cross sprayed across them. They passed by rooms with barrack style bunks. Beds neatly made. Workshops and armories outfitted like a military base. The more she saw the more she realized. This wasn’t small time. This wasn’t casual arms dealing. If such a thing could be casual. This was a fully outfitted operation. Jacob Seed was building an army for his brother. Not a rag tag militia of angry religious fanatics, but an organized, trained military force.

She had a sneaking suspicion that his recruits started out in the cages and those that survived their training, and the drugs and the abuse were so broken mentally and spiritually that they would do whatever they were told to survive. Ride or die to the extreme. Which explained the seemingly never-ending supply of Peggies for her to shoot at. They always just keep coming. She had to get out of here and find a way to contact Evans. They had cut most forms of communication, but if she could find a sat phone…

Rook hazarded a glance at Staci. She had only moments to say her piece before she was dragged before Jacob again.

“Staci.” She hissed. He continued to pull her along doggedly. “Staci!” She tried to pull her arm from his grip, her shoulder muscles protesting. Staci stopped, turning to look at her as if he was surprised she was still there.

“We gotta run. I can escape, but I don’t want to leave you behind. I can help you. You have to help me.” Her eyes searched his battered face.

Staci’s eyes widened as his gaze darted around the empty hallway. Panic clear on his face as he dragged her before him. His grip like a vice on both shoulders, squeezing her stitches painfully. His nose inches from hers as he hissed a ragged response.

“Don’t ever say that again. Not out loud. Not here. Not now.” He gaze on a level with hers. Her eyes wide. Rook had no idea how to respond. Was he afraid to leave? Did he think they wouldn’t make it? Was he actually Jacob’s dog like the medic accused him?

The Staci she had known was never this intense. This hard and fearful. She didn’t know how to maneuver with this version of him. Whatever shock he saw in her face satisfied him and with a nod to himself he turned and pulled her along again.

“Not now.” He repeated as he turned on his heel and continued with her down the hall.

Staci pulled her through the rabbit warren of hallways before stopping in front of a closed door. There were no windows or any indication of what would be on the other side. She steeled herself for another testing room, another cage, another horror of some kind.

Staci raised his hand and rapped twice and was responded to with a muffled “Enter.”

Staci turned quickly to her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity bordering on angry.

“Behave.” He hissed and a fraction of a second later he added softly, “please” before opening the door and ushering her in.

Rook cultured her face to be blank. No shock. No emotion. No pain. No nothing. She had to be ready for anything.

The plain wooden door opened to a large office with a set of French doors opposite. These were currently open, letting in the evening breeze and the distant howls from the courtyard beyond. Easy ingress and egress. Exposed. Arrogant. Potentially useful.

Rook’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in everything she could as fast as she could. Cataloging the details and information for later use. This must be Jacob’s personal war room. Against one wall hung maps and cork boards littered with notes and photos. Radio and jamming equipment strewn across the tables. Maybe he had a sat phone. Against the opposite wall was what appeared to be Jacob’s personal arsenal hung over a work bench. Red framed compound bow, red .50 cal sniper rifle, red D9 side arm. Interesting personal touch with the color. A double bed tucked into the corner and a small efficiency kitchen. It appeared Jacob ate and slept his mini war in this room.

Staci brought her before the desk and relinquished his hold before stepping back. Leaving her to stand alone. Rook glanced over her shoulder at him. His hands clasped before him, his head bowed. All his prior vibrancy bled from him as he made himself as invisible as possible in front of Jacob. Staci wasn’t afraid of the Peggies. Staci was afraid of Jacob.

Rook snapped her attention back to the man seated at the desk in the center of the room. His red head bent over folders and reports. Shuffling through papers pointedly ignoring her. She could stare him down for just a long as he could ignore her. It also gave her the opportunity to study him. Something she wasn’t sure if he was consciously allowing, or just a by product of his silent power play.

He looked out of place behind a desk. A man of action not of paper and pens. His jacket was rumpled and stained with blood. But it wasn’t his. His face smudged with dirt. His hair had fallen in front of his forehead covering some of his scars as he continued to read. He had been active. Recently. And hadn’t bothered to clean himself up before settling down to more mundane business. Like all the Seed siblings he was very handsome, even scarred, but in stark contrast to his little brother John, he didn’t seem to care. Unlike Joseph he wasn’t going to use his baby blues to charm.  It didn’t serve a purpose for his war making. She wouldn’t be able to play to any vanity here. Appeal to any softness. Blatant manipulation he would see through immediately. His contained violence appealed to her. It was something she understood well, it was a personality trait for someone in her line of work. Under different circumstances he would have caught her eye across some dark, seedy bar. Someone dangerous. Someone challenging. Too bad these weren’t different circumstances.

He made a few notations with a red pen. Of course. The silence thick.

She wanted to start a dialogue. To get him talking so she could get information. Learn what made the Seeds, this particular Seed tick. She needed information. But in this little game, she couldn’t make the first move. He had to feel like he had the control. Rook stood for a solid minute and a half watching him work with only the shuffling of papers breaking the silence. For most people that would feel like an eternity, but Rook was patient. She stood quietly hands resting at her sides. Weight evenly distributed and ready. Never fidgeting. Never looking away.

Another minute ticked by before Jacob looked up. His head still canted downward over the desk but his icy blue eyes suddenly snapped up, a bright contrast to his dirty face and tousled hair. He looked for everything like a Viking marauder. A blue-eyed wolf. His full attention suddenly fixed on her and it actually felt heavy. His affinity for the animals seemed only logical with such a predatory gaze.

Without saying a word, Jacob rose to his feet. His metal chair scrapped back from the desk, horrifically loud after the heavy silence. His eyes never leaving Rook, he moved around the desk to stand between it and her. His size looming over her before he leaned back against the cluttered desk, arms crossed before his chest and legs kicked out in front of him. The sudden scrutiny oppressive after being ignored. He was so very good at this intimidation game. Using his size to crowd her. Looking for her to flinch. To Crack. His eyes darted over her face and down to her exposed arm and shoulder. Taking in the dried blood and the shirt not more than rags. The bandage tape peaking around her still blood encrusted shoulder.

“Peaches.” Rook could practically feel Staci stiffen behind her. “You could have at least gotten her a new shirt.” Jacob softly admonished. Never raising his voice or imparting emotion. She could definitely feel Staci wince. “Go get one.” He said flatly, dismissing Staci without breaking eye contact with Rook.

“Yessir.” Staci had opened the door and darted through the second the order was given leaving her alone with Jacob. He continued to look at her a few moments longer before sighing.

“Are you planning on trying to kill me again? Or can we converse like professionals?” He asked. Again? She wondered. She didn’t recall having the opportunity to try. But funny things happen in the Bliss.

“It depends.” Her voice croaking from disuse and thirst. No reason to let him in on her confusion. “Are you going to drug me again?”

Jacob snorted. “Will it be necessary?” He asked. Like her opinion of the matter would ever affect his decision.

He pushed away from the desk breaking eye contact and turned his back to her in a show of his own confidence. He knew she wouldn’t make an attempt on his life. At least not right now. She was getting him to talk and she wasn’t in any immediate danger.

“Do you want water?” He asked as he moved towards the mini fridge. “You sound like you need one.”

Rook narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. Had she tried to kill him during a Bliss induced blackout? It sounded like something she would try to do.

“It depends.” She parroted “Are you going to drug me again?”

He chuckled. A dry, disused sound as he offered her a bottled water. She took it feeling much like Eve conversing with the snake. 

“No. No now. You’ve passed your trials.” Her heart constricted with anxiety. Trials? How many trials? Flashes of memory skirting through her mind. Visions bathed in red. A man pinned beneath her as she bore down with a knife. Her drive controlled by the single-minded need to survive. Barked commands. Gunfire. Cooed praises. Blood and pain. What that fantasy or reality?

“Your value as an asset is one that can think. Too much Bliss and you’ll end up like Faith’s Angels.” His voice laced with disgust. So, he wasn’t in favor of Faith’s methods of control. But he obviously used them.

“Bold of you to think of me as your asset.” She took the bottle.

He shrugged. “Joseph believes that you’ll happily join our cause. He saw it in a vision.” Jacob waved his hand airily. “I’m skeptical.”

“You don’t believe in Joseph’s visions?” She twisted the cap off the bottle and practically inhaled the contents. Gasping between massive swallows. He didn’t answer her, just watched her neck work as she swallowed. Maybe too pointed of a question to fast.

“Why would I join you?” she gasped, wiping the water from her lower lip. His eyes following her movements.

“Because you’re not an idiot.” He said simply. Is that why Staci played along, because it was the only way to survive? Because it would be stupid not to? He moved around her so that her back was to him. It took all her willpower to keep from matching his moves. To keep her facing him. You didn’t let a predator at your back. “Tsk. You’re bleeding again Deputy.” He said the title with humor. Like it was a nickname instead of a position of respect. He slowly approached her as if she was a wounded animal.

“You also know that I know what you are. And that I haven’t killed you yet.” He was so close now she could feel the heat coming off of him against the exposed skin of her back. “Can you guess why?” His breath whispered into the shell of her ear as his heavy paw closed around the back of her neck to hold her still. His skin felt like fire against the clammy chill of hers prickling in goose flesh. Before she could tear herself free the door burst open as Staci hurried in with that new shirt.

Staci’s eyes widened to saucers and his gut twisted as he took in the tableau of the half-exposed Deputy with Jacob almost intimately close behind. The back of her neck cradled in one of his massive paws. The look on her face sheer terror. Staci automatically took a step towards her and immediately realized his mistake and froze. Jacob’s gaze snapped up to him. His eyes narrowed down and a growl left his lips.

“Don’t you know to fucking knock first?” He spat as he gripped the edge of the soiled bandage and tore if free. Rook jerked like she had been shot. A strangled squawk leaving her lips. Staci’s gasped.

“Tsk.” Jacob tutted. Ignoring them both. “Harris is a fucking butcher.” Rook let out a strangled laugh at the absurdity of that statement. Jacob tossed the bandage into the waste basket next to the desk, releasing the hold on Rook’s neck. She practically slumped, all discipline in keeping herself cold and aloof falling to the wayside. Her nerves fried. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Did he give you any antibiotics?” Jacob still loomed behind her. Her mind racing. Why was he all of a sudden giving a shit about her condition? She had been starved, beaten, treated like an animal. Her brain was scrambling to keep up.

“No.” She answered.

“An absolutely abysmal medic.” He continued conversationally. “Peaches. Remind me to have a word with him.”

The way he said it, Rook could guess at what “a word” meant.

“Ah. Yes. Yessir.” Staci stumbled through his response.

“This is going to leave a lovely scar.” Jacob poked gingerly at the stitches, causing Rook to hiss in pain. She wasn’t sure if it was sarcasm or admiration in his voice. “But I’d rather not have you die of infection. Especially after all the effort I’ve put into you.” Jacob continued.

“What effort?” She prompted. Jacob ignored her.

“Hmmmm” Jacob’s baritone hum causing her to gooseflesh all over again as he inspected the wound. “Real lucky here kitten. If you hadn’t been so light on your feet this knife would have been it. Who taught you how to move like that?” He prompted.

“I took a lot of modern dance in college.” She sassed.

“You’ve got a smart mouth. I bet that got you into a lot of trouble, in college.” His calloused hand heavy and warm on her shoulder squeezed. Holding her in place as she groaned.

“Peaches, bring me that first aid kit from the workbench.”

Staci rushed forward now. Not as her savior, but as Jacob’s creature doing Jacob’s bidding. Staci pushed the clean shirt into her hands and squeezed them as he hustled by. His eyes pained before darted away.

Jacob guided Rook into the kitchenette and kicked out a stool never releasing his hold on her shoulder. He pushed her down on the seat with a firmness that broke no argument as Staci opened up the first aid kit on the counter.

“Get me that bottle of whiskey in the cabinet Peaches and you can leave. Set up a secured room for our rising star here. She’s going to need a bit of down time before she’s fully operational again.” Jacob didn’t bother to look up at Staci as he went about laying out what he wanted from the kit. “And, go tell Harris I’ll find him when I’m done here.” 

“L-leave sir?” Staci’s desire to stay near Rook warring with Jacob’s conditioning.

Jacob’s eyes snapped up. The anger practically palpable this time.

“Did I fucking stutter?” His voice cold and hard.

“N-no sir.” And with that Staci was out the door and Rook was alone again.

“I don’t know why I put up with him.” Jacob muttered to himself. “He’s smart. I’ll give him that. He figured out within a couple of days how to survive, even if he’s weak.” Rook didn’t respond. She just watched Jacob fiddle with the supplies before pouring the whiskey into a glass and offering it to Rook. She raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“I thought the Project frowned upon fun stuff like alcohol and fornication.”

“Do I look like a give a shit about those kinds of rules? You’ll want this.” He said flatly.

She took the offered glass and downed it in one gulp, watching his face as he took a deep swig straight from the bottle. Wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve before washing his hands in the kitchenette sink and filling a pan with fresh water. He grabbed a fresh cloth and moved behind her to get to work.

Jacob worked silently for several minutes dabbing at the area around the wound. Cleaning up the bloody crust that Harris didn’t seem interested in addressing. He had just stitched her up that’s all the sinner deserved.

Rook sat quietly staring at the opposite wall. The one that held his personal collection of weapons. Jacob followed her line of site.

“Thinking about making a move on me?” He asked casually. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The whiskey had settled warmly in her stomach. Easing her tired muscles. The lack of food and water making the spirit go straight to her head. The sudden lack of adrenaline making her less prickly. More relaxed than the situation warranted.

“Now’s not the time.” She said, feeling conversational. “I haven’t gotten what I wanted yet.”

Jacob barked a harsh, but genuine laugh. “And what, exactly, would that be.?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can guess. Your Project isn’t exactly low profile. You’re pretty observant. You already don’t think I’m a cop.”

He hummed in agreement. “What are you then kitten?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself red.” The liquor making her mouthy.

“Oh I’m exactly where I want to be.” He purred behind her, his fingers tracing her neck as he moved her hair over the opposite shoulder making room to clean. As quickly as her goosebumps rose and the gasp left her lips, he had drawn his combat knife and slit down the back of her tattered shirt. He was lightning fast and her reactions sluggish.

“Jesus Christ!” She tried to bolt to her feet before his big hand fell onto her good shoulder keeping her firmly in place.

“Sit the fuck down. If that’s what I wanted from you, it wouldn’t be while you’re liquored up and injured. You have blood all the way down your back and your shirt is trashed.” She couldn’t decide if the innuendo was sexual or murderous in nature. Her body felt flushed. From the whiskey or having her naked back exposed to the biggest threat she’s encountered in this never ending shitshow she couldn’t tell.

“Why are doing this?” Rook she asked softly. “Why are you helping me. Patching me up. I’m not one of you. I’m not going to stop. I’m just going to keep coming.”

He sighed and in a moment of candor he spoke.

“You and I are more alike than I reckon you’d want to admit. Why do you think you’re here with me and not with John or Faith? Joseph wants you to join us. He thinks you’ll be part of our family. That I’m to treat you like a sister and you’ll come to understand and love us.” Rook snorted at that.

“But we both know, you’re a weapon. You were started down that path long before coming to Hope County. You’ve always been someone else’s weapon haven’t you?” his words pricking a little closer to the truth than she would have like.

“I told Joseph for a pretty little thing, you’re dangerous and not to fall into this trap, but he’s got a plan for you. Bowed but unbroken. His words, not mine. I’d had sooner shot you.” His blunt statement in contrast with the care he was using on her back. His hands gently scrubbing the blood free.

Rook sat as still as a church mouse as he fell silent. She knew that everything he was saying was implying she was to be indoctrinated into being a Peggie. That Joseph expected her to join his flock. Hell would sooner freeze over. She had to get out of here, but injured and drunk wasn’t the time. She wasn’t in immediate danger and her position in this wacked out situation was improving. If she could bide her time, gained trust, she could formulate a plan to get both her and Staci out. She knew that the resistance would still be kicking and that she had allies on the outside continuing on. She would just have to bide her time.

“And to answer your earlier question.” He broke the silence. “No, I don’t believe in Joseph’s Voice. But I do believe in him. He’s given hopeless people purpose and he hasn’t been wrong yet. Even about you. There’s a war coming and if my hunch about you is correct. You already know this. ‘Sides, I’d rather have you contained where I can see you than running roughshod across the county.” He rinsed the rag and continued to mop the blood off her bare back.

She grunted at this revelation as she held her empty glass up for a refill. Jacob poured over her shoulder another finger of the amber liquid.

“John doesn’t seem to like it when I blow up silos.” She contributed.

“You’re a fucking menace, but it’s hilarious to see him so nettled. He’s an absolute shit when he doesn’t get his way.” Jacob had finished cleaning her back and paused before starting to re-bandage her shoulder. Rook knew he was looking at the patchwork of scars she had across her back. This shoulder injury just adding to the collection.

“You have a lot of scars for a beat cop kitten.” He said softly tracing a warm finger across the puckered bullet wound on her opposite shoulder before digging his thumb into the tense trapezius muscle. She groaned in pleasure. The fact she was essentially topless not lost on her.

“Are you running a honeypot on me Jacob.” Her voice husky from the liquor.

“If I thought it would work.” He left the statement hanging before quickly pouring a douse of the whiskey over her wound.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” She swore.

“I don’t have any antiseptic wash handy.” He said by way of apology.

“You did that on purpose.” She hissed between clinched teeth.

“Well of course I did. I didn’t accidentally spill expensive fucking whiskey on you.” He finished re-bandaging the wound and helped her pull the baggy t-shirt over her head never moving from her back and maintaining her modesty. A strangely chivalrous act.


End file.
